A Sakabatou for Baka Saitou
by Angrybee
Summary: Saitou Hajime has a very big....vocabulary. And one day, on the day he needs an adjective the most, he ends up forgetting them all. (Chapter 3: Lovestruck Hiko? Soujirou tempted with drugs!)
1. Cataclysm by Cat

Author Note: As usual, RK and/or its characters do not belong to me. They belong to Watsuki-san, which is why I was so very mean and put him in this story. Ahem. Do not sue, please!  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 1: A Cataclysm ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
There must be words stronger than 'hate'.   
  
Loathe. Loathe is a good word, It indicates a searing force within the body, a silent gnashing of teeth, a feeling so powerful it can drive a person mad.  
  
But, even that -wasn't- quite the word that Saitou Hajime needed.  
  
He'd indexed a whole catalogue of words which he wished to ascribe to his most notorious enemy. Seriously. He had them in a rolodex in his desk. Just waiting, waiting for the moment he would be without the proper word.  
  
Revolting. That was a good one. Pathetic. Moronic. Delusional. Obnoxious. Weak. He liked 'weak', that one seemed to get under Himura's skin pretty well. He was low on words beginning with "B", but that was quite alright, since he could just say "Battousai" to the man and watch his eyes twitch.   
  
Of course, he also had a rolodex for the rooster-head. Yes, Sanosuke had his own private catalogue of words. It contained only one card. "A" is for "Ahou". "A" is also for "apathetic", which is, in Saitou's opinion, how he felt towards Sano. An even worse insult than the entirety of Battousai's rolodex.  
  
Saitou, contemplating new and extraordinarily difficult-to-pronounce words to call his nemesis, also happened to be walking. He was a very talented man. A man who could think and walk at the same time.  
  
(Somewhere, across Japan, Misao Machimaki ran into a lamppost. "Itai!" She rubbed her head and pouted. 'Why does this always happen when I am thinking about Aoshi-sama?)  
  
Ahem. He was walking, for he was a cop, a policeman, a flat-foot, a pig, the fuzz. He was the Law. Which, Saitou decided, was a very good thing to be, especially when you had a penchant for sniffing out crime. Sniffing out crime and then squashing it flat. Like a bug underfoot. No, more like a grapefruit underfoot, because crime was acrid like a citrus fruit, and had seeds. Or maybe more like squashing a squash, which seemed appropriate, since it was named 'squash'.   
  
Perhaps 'squashable' could be added to the rolodex. But, no. That might give someone the idea that he'd want to -hug- Himura Battousai. And that, indeed, was something he definitely would not do, not even if Okita asked him with his dying breath, not even if Kondou-san ordered him, not even if Tokio...  
  
Ah. Tokio. He'd completely forgotten the tofu. She'd be upset. Perhaps even upset enough to hide his cigarettes. Or, worse, she'd hide them in his soba. That was not a pleasant evening, as he recalled.  
  
Saitou changed directions. Not morally, or idealistically, he just physically did an about face and headed back to the market. Why Tokio couldn't get her own damn tofu, he'd never know. Oh yes, he did know. She had a strange horrific fear of men with only one eye. And, it so happened that, coincidentally, the tofu vendor had his eye torn out at the battle of Toba Fushimi. Which, while tragic, did give Saitou the brief idea to be thankful that he'd survived the war without injury.  
  
Except. Ahem. For that -one- injury. Saitou winced. If the Battousai ever knew about that, he'd have to add 'deceased' to the rolodex. And then perhaps, he'd have to step up his descriptions into full-blown phrases. Phrases like, "Dissolved in a vat of acid", or "Eaten alive by psychotic bloodthirsty koi", or even perhaps, "Scalped in front of a tanuki".  
  
No. No one knew about -that- injury. Except, of course, for Tokio. Tokio, who currently needed tofu.   
  
(How was he to know that Himura Kenshin -also- needed tofu right-that-moment, due to the fact that a squabble between a certain wild-haired kid and his instructor had upset the last bucket?)  
  
"Ah, come again for the tofu, have you, Fujita-san?" The one-eyed tofu vendor named Watsuki said with a chuckle. "Tokio-san still afraid I'm going to eat her?"  
  
"My deepest apologies, Watsuki-san, perhaps if you had drawn her into the manga, she wouldn't be so upset with you."  
  
But, actually, Saitou said:  
  
"Hn. Aa. The tofu."  
  
And, just then, a voice that Saitou abhorred above all others piped up and said, "Sessha will take tofu, too, de gorazu."  
  
Nails on a chalkboard. Or perhaps, katanas on rocks. Except, they could both cut through rocks, so lets just say perhaps, Misao on a crying jag. Really, it was even more unnerving than that. Saitou was pretty certain that the rurouni's voice could not aptly be described with any words that actually existed. He'd have to come up with new words for this. Words like "screeching-stupidity", or "seppuku-inducing-girly-warble", or even "Lost-his-testicles-in-the-Bakumatsu And-now-He's-Japan's-Most-Obnoxious-Castrato."  
  
The last one almost made Saitou smile. Almost.  
  
"Battousai."  
  
"Saitou."  
  
"Sent on errands again, I see?"  
  
"You fare better, do you?"  
  
"Don't tempt me, I can still haul you to jail for the night just for wearing that sakabatou, you know."  
  
Kenshin said nothing to this, and turned his attention back to the tofu vendor, Watsuki. "How much will that be?"  
  
Grr. Taking the high road. Damn Battousai. He was...he was sooo....  
  
Argh. Need. Rolodex. Now.  
  
While Kenshin was counting out the money to pay for his tofu, and Saitou was bemoaning his lack of appropriate adjectives, a cataclysm had been set into action. Actually, the cataclysm had been set into action earlier in the day when a small black cat had walked past an old woman carrying a bushel of oranges. Well, I suppose you could say that the cataclysm was set into action the moment the cat, or the women, were born, but this isn't that kind of story, and I have no time for your philosophical arguments. At any rate, she had mistaken the cat for Buddha, being as that the old woman was both completely senile and certifiably blind, and had nearly tripped over herself in an attempt to bow, causing oranges to fly everywhere. All of these were later picked up when she discovered that the benevolent Buddha had assumed the form of a small black dog. All...save one, which had rolled into a cranny at the side of the tofu vendor's shack. However, at this moment, a subtle gust of wind had dislodged the fruit, sending it on a mild downhill wobble into the path of a man who had just made a visit to the nearby knife-vendor hut. Yes. Knife vendor.   
  
The man carrying the knives went flying into the air, a dangerous situation, since the knives -also- went flying into the air.  
  
Himura Kenshin, and Saitou Hajime, being generally alert men, and really both good citizens, went into action. Though, you could say, that Saitou wasn't exactly a citizen, being a policemen, but why you always have to make such arguments is beyond me. Can't you just be satisfied with my explanation?   
  
Good.  
  
They went into action. Kenshin jumped into the air. He jumped so high that he was immediately nominated to become Japan's next entry into the Olympics as High Jumper. Once there, he caught the knives, juggled them, composed a poem about Kaoru's beauty which the Battousai within him immediately emerged and tore to shreds, did the laundry, made a prank phone call to Yukishiro Enishi and asked to speak to his sister, decided -not- to participate in Seisouhen, and then landed.  
  
Saitou, on the other hand, lunged forward, with Gatotsu-like swiftness, intending to save the one-eyed Watsuki from the impending collapse of his hut. For, you see, the man -holding- the knives had -not- been caught by Kenshin, and he was about to land on top of the fragile tofu stand. Tossing the man out of the stand proved harder than Saitou had imagined, since, it seemed, Watsuki had put on a bit of weight since the battle of Toba Fushimi, or, perhaps, he had glued his feet to the ground. But, what really is the sense in gluing your feet to the ground? Who would do such a thing? Only, say, someone who drew manga for a living and was so plagued with insomnia that he could barely stand, only someone like -that- would glue their feet to the ground.  
  
Watsuki was summarily tossed into the street.  
  
However, Saitou was not so lucky. The man who had been carrying the knives landed on the tofu stand, squishing (squashing? Is Saitou squashable?) our legendary ex-Shinsengumi Captain underneath.  
  
A cataclysm.  
  
"Saitou! Saitou!" This is what the rurouni yelled as he tore away the debris in an attempt to find the fallen man.  
  
Watsuki scratched his head and shrugged. He never wanted to be a tofu vendor, anyway. He wanted to be a taxidermist. And with that, he wandered down the street in search of roadkill, which, as you know, wasn't terribly prevalent in the days of the Meiji era. So, our beloved tofu vendor is going to be wandering for a while. I'd say just about ten years.  
  
Kenshin, however, had forcibly torn apart the remains of the tofu stand, and finally found a broken man underneath. Well, not all -that- broken, but he did have quite a few bumps and bruises, most of them located in the head area.  
  
"Saitou? Can you hear me?"  
  
"Unnnnghhhh," Saitou replied, which is injured-man speak for "Verily, I am in quite a bit of pain at this point."  
  
"Saitou?"  
  
Blink. Blink. Who was this little red-haired girl and why was she screaming at him? And for that matter, who was he? No, not in a philosophical 'What is the meaning of the life and who am I?' sense, but in a very real, 'What the hell is my name?' sense.   
  
Blink. Blink.   
  
Finally, the man who couldn't currently remember his name said, "Salmon gum and night, a few good parsley's healthy hands."  
  
"Oro?"  
  
Squinting, he tried again, "I'm gonna be alright, if you could possibly help me stand."  
  
Kenshin extended a hand to the man who, quite frankly, proclaimed himself to be his enemy, and helped him up. Saitou stood, but was a bit wobbly, wobbly like a dog with three legs, wobbly like Soujiro on sake, wobbly like a sentence which you end a preposition in.   
  
"Say, um, young...lady, thanks for your help. Might you know...which way...my house is?"  
  
"Oro? You don't know where your house is?" Kenshin's eyes grew wide before narrowing once again. "And Sessha is not a lady. Sessha just has refined features."  
  
"My apologies. Anyway, I'm afraid not. In fact, I can't remember much at all. Do we know each other?" Saitou scratched the back of his head, all the while wearing an amiable smile which, quite frankly, gave Kenshin the creeps.  
  
"Yes. Sessha is Himura Kenshin. You're Saitou Hajime. We fought in a war, we did. Don't you remember?"  
  
Saitou appeared to be searching the database locked within his skull. Finally, he held up one finger and declared, "I remember Toba Fushimi!"  
  
"Good."  
  
"One question, though."  
  
"Eh?"  
  
"What's Toba Fushimi?"  
  
"Orororoorooorooo...."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
In Our Next Chapter: Oh my. Saitou has amnesia. Will Kenshin help him out? Will Tokio come looking for her husband? What will the rest of the Kenshingumi think?  
  
I'll be updating this, maybe, but only if people ask. If no one is interested in the story, why bother? I LIVE TO SERVE. I AM YOUR CLOWN. DANCE, ANGRYBEE, DANCE! 


	2. Recipe For Disaster

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 2 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Saitou Tokio looked out from the window of the house on Taito street and narrowed her eyes. With her hand at her throat, she suppressed a sigh. 'I should not sigh. Sighing is folly, and for the foolish at heart,' Tokio's whispered voice mused. Tossing the end of her scarf over her shoulder, the amber-eyed woman turned on her heel and headed back inside, seeking out the company of her overly rotund cat, Snowflake.  
  
"Goddamnit, Tokio, bring me my damn cigarettes!"  
  
STOP!  
  
This is ridiculous. Authors should never make meta-jokes referencing their other stories. This isn't even a joke. It isn't even funny. Why would you put something like that here? I am giving you exactly one second to apologize and get this story re-started and back on track.  
  
I apologize. Let us begin again.  
  
'Chapter 2' of "A Sakabatou for Baka Saitou" opens in a small house which, for argument's sake, has a roof and four walls. I mean, give me that, at least. I'm not stretching it far with this one. Unless you'd like me to set this chapter inside of a Tokyo High School, which, while possible, would be pleasant for neither reader nor author.  
  
And inside these hastily defined parameters, this small house, a woman is pacing. Or rather, she is contemplating pacing, but does not actually pace, because that would ruin the newly-smoothed tatami mats. This poor woman, you see, has a definite problem. She's acutely agoraphobic, and has not been off the premises of the Fujita family home more than a half-dozen times in as many years.  
  
Because of this, Fujita Tokio is a woman with a great deal of time on her hands. And she uses that time, quite effectively, to make a very nice home for her loving husband, their ten year old son, Tsutomu, and their eight year old son, Tsuyoshi. She's a kind woman, who likes children and animals. Well, except for cats, dogs, frogs, worms, bats, birds. raccoons, snakes, Godzilla, panda bears, wombats, spiders, squirrels, Misao Makimachi, pigs, rats, and the Canadian Moose. In -theory- Fujita Tokio likes animals. She likes the thought of them, anyway, but any temporal proximity to Nature's finest beasts tends to make Tokio-san squeak, hide her face behind her hands, and begin to hyperventilate.  
  
As I was saying, Fujita Tokio is a woman with -many- disturbing problems.  
  
She's also a woman with a -quite- disturbing husband. A husband who is currently missing, and along with him, the tofu he promised to bring home.   
  
"Oh my. Oh doodle. Oh, poo, poo, poodle."  
  
"Hahaue, is everything quite alright?" Tsutomu asked from the next room, opening the shoji a smidgen and looking over his western-style glasses at his mother. He was, indeed, very much like his father. Not in that he kept rolodexes of adjectives in his desk drawer, nor had he participated in the bloodthirsty Ikedaya affair. The ten year old didn't even smoke. He just merely -looked- like his father, tall and angular, with a keenness to his amber eyes that belied the cleverness beneath.   
  
When your mother is in possession of acute psychological problems, and your father is a legendary ex-Captain of the Shinsengumi, you grow up extremely quickly and with surpassing wit.  
  
"Your father, Tsu-chan, shouldn't he be home by now?"  
  
"Yes, Mother, but he is often late." Tsutomu smiled warmly as his fidgeting mother. She may have been quite certifiable, but she was affectionate, warm, and a wonderful woman, and, well, his only mother. "Perhaps you should go start dinner?"  
  
"I would, but, your father was to bring home the tofu."  
  
"Ah. I see." Tsutomu put down his brush and checked his work. Studying for entrance into the West Tokyo Normal School proved more exhausting than riding a pig bareback through Siberia, more harrying than attempting to have a picnic in a tornado, more tiring than trying to convince Hiko to go to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. But, it would indeed be worth it, just to see the pride in his parents' eyes. Or rather, the pride in his mother's eyes and a rousing, 'Hn. Not terrible, son,' from his father. He did so adore it when his father called him "son". Usually, this epithet was reserved for Tsuyoshi who, at even the tender age of eight was already showing signs of being Tokyo's newest kendo prodigy. Not that Tsutomu held any grudge against his younger brother. He just...  
  
Wished...  
  
His father...  
  
Would...  
  
"Hahaue, please don't chew on your fingers. Father will be fine, really. Why don't you go out into your garden "   
  
Tokio nodded and removed her fingers from her mouth. Nervous habit. "So sorry for bothering you during your studies, Tsu-chan. I just...I just..."  
  
Tsutomu pushed his glasses up on his nose and waited for his mother to continue.   
  
"Oh my. I just...you know...have -that- feeling."  
  
Tsutomu's eyes grew wide.  
  
Oh Kami-sama, no.  
  
Not 'that feeling'.   
  
Anything, anything but that!  
  
Last time, half of Tokyo was almost destroyed.  
  
And the time before that, seventeen people were hospitalized.  
  
And Tsutomu didn't even want to -think- about the time before -that-.  
  
"No, no, Hahaue, surely it is just something you ate."  
  
"Gomen nasai, Tsu-chan," Tokio said quietly, leaning over to smooth out an almost imperceptible wrinkle in the tatami. "But, I think it may truly not be so."  
  
Tsutomu rubbed his forehead. Disaster. He must, at all costs, avert disaster. What to do? What to do? Aha. The Instructions. Thank Kami-sama for Father, and his overly-prepared ways.   
  
But where would they be?  
  
In the file cabinet, under "I", of course.  
  
(Somewhere, across Japan, Okon and Omasu each equally leaned their backs against a tree, panting gently. Why the man had to live at the -top- of a mountain, no one ever knew. Except, of course, for Hiko. He had a deep rooted fear of low laying places. He'd developed a sort of reverse-vertigo which gently sets in to most exceptionally tall men, over many years, many many years, eons even, perhaps centuries. Which is to say that Hiko was old. Very old. His contemporaries were Jiya, Buddha, and Yoda. He was so ancient that he'd actually -invented- the whole concept of -being- a samurai. At least, that is what Hiko would tell you. Because, as it stood, Hiko's age was matched only in expanse by his ego.  
  
"I do not know if this is the right thing to do, Okon," Omasu murmured.  
  
"But, we must, we must! Think of the deteriorated state of Hiko-sama's liver!" Okon replied.  
  
"But, Okon, he might Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu us, and then where would we be?"   
  
"Flat on our backs in Hiko-sama's hut, that is where we would be!"  
  
"Oh. Jolly good plan, then. Let us continue."  
  
From inside their uniforms, Okon and Omasu produced ten yards of rope, chloroform, several pamphlets, a motivational speaker named 'Fred-san', coffee, matching love letters to Hiko-sama (which were promptly re-hidden), and glue.  
  
"Shall we?"  
  
"We shall!"  
  
The two female Oniwabanshuu ninjas both leapt forward with a mighty yell, entering Hiko's mountain hut in impressive style.  
  
"Nani?!?!" The master of the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu yelled, almost, not quite, but -almost-, spilling his sake. Sake was precious, like life. Perhaps if he had made his baka deshi drink more as a pre-teen, Kenshin wouldn't have ended up so tightly strung. Perhaps he wouldn't have run off to kill all those people during the Bakumatsu. Yes. That was it. All problems could be boiled down to this one small fact. His baka deshi's mental deficiencies and continued angst could be attributed to a severe lack of sake.  
  
And, perhaps, the fact that he was built like a twelve year old girl.  
  
Flames appeared in the eyes of both Okon and Omasu, who moved their bodies in front of the doorway to prevent escape. This was it. They would accept -no- denial, they would stop at nothing to accomplish their mission. This -had- to be done.  
  
"Hiko-sama! We have come! Come to take you to Alcoholics Anonymous!"  
  
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!"  
  
"Oh, kawaii!" Okon sighed, "He's so sexy when he howls like an injured animal."  
  
"Strength, Okon, strength!"  
  
"Right!"  
  
Hiko was then promptly seized, trussed, and instructed in the twelve steps to recovery.)  
  
Back in Tokyo, someone was brewing a recipe for disaster. And the recipe went something like this:  
  
Take one ex-Shinsengumi Captain. Mash (Or, if you wish, squash) violently on the head with a tofu hut until gooey. Stir in one confused rurouni, and seventy-six partially hydrogenated "Oros". Oreos may be substituted for Oros if necessary. But, lets not have the double-stuffed ones, because this isn't some sort of bizarre hentai analogy, and giant tentacles, while quite easy to come by on the isle of Japan, are not easy to bake unless you have an industrial oven. Glaze gently with one horrible creepy smile and set out to cool in the Meiji Era.  
  
Kenshin scratched his head. Well, this was a pickle. A rather large pickle. A very -bad- pickle. This was, say, a pickle-flavored cake cooked by Kaoru-dono. "You don't remember anything, Saitou?"  
  
The confused cop took off his policeman's cap and ran his fingers through his hair, dislodging it from its usual slicked back neatness, and causing it to fall around his face. "No. Can't say that I can." Saitou suddenly realized what he was holding and pulled the hat up to his eyes to scrutinize it. "Say. I've got some policeman's hat."  
  
"But, that's -your- hat, Saitou."  
  
"Is it, now?" Saitou sniffed at the hat casually and shrugged. "But, I thought we were soldiers. You did say we were in a war, did you not?"  
  
"We -were- in a war, that we were." Kenshin sighed. "But, we aren't anymore."  
  
"I've got a katana, and so have you, and you don't appear to be a policeman, so we must be soldiers."  
  
This was going to take a long time to explain. Actually, it would take about fifteen hours, thirty-six minutes, seven diagrams, a detailed map of Shishio Makoto's hideout, twelve pantomimes, a lame impression of the Hitokiri Battousai as performed by Himura Kenshin who (as you know) actually -is- the Hitokiri Battousai, five hundred and twenty one 'de gorazu yos', a detailed anime physics seminar given by Stephen Hawking, a recitation of the Shinsengumi code, and strangely, a detailed description of what Kaoru-dono looks like in the bath.  
  
But, as I said before, this is not some sort of bizarre hentai story, and it turns out that Kenshin would -not- have the time it took to properly explain the situation to Saitou. For, at that very moment, a man dressed completely in lizard, snake, and alligator skins came screaming down the street, wielding a heavy mace.   
  
"Ahahahaha! I've got you now, Fujita-san! After five years, I've finally been released from that horrible prison. And now I've come, come to seek my revenge on the man who put me there!"  
  
The man stopped in the middle of the market square, laughing evilly, as most villains tend to do.   
  
(Halfway across Japan, Seta Soujiro giggled mirthfully, stripped nude, and jumped into the hot springs. "Ahh! The rurouni life is definitely for me!")  
  
As I was saying, -most- villains laugh evilly, since it is quite the villain thing to do.  
  
(Halfway across the world, Kamatari giggled girlishly and pressed his shoulder up against a rather handsome British law student. "You think I'm pretty, do you, Daniel-san? Well, I -suppose- I could allow you to take me out this Friday, but I must warn you," Kamatari said with a dreamy sigh, "I do have four other dates that evening.")  
  
Damnit. He was laughing evilly. AS VILLAINS DO. And marketgoers were running and screaming, as civilians tend to do. Basically, the whole scene was a chaotic mess.  
  
"Who is that?" Kenshin murmured to Saitou.  
  
Saitou backed up a bit, noticing that the man with the penchant for wearing reptile pelts was glaring at him. "I haven't the slightest clue. Who do you think this 'Fujita-san' is?"  
  
"You."  
  
"Me?" Saitou squeaked, "What do you mean? I thought you said my name was 'Saitou Hajime'. I may have lost my memory, but I do remember -that- much."  
  
"Well, yes, you see...well...sessha..." Kenshin was properly stumped. And, as mentioned before, he was lacking the essential element of time, especially since reptile guy was currently making a beeline for Saitou's head with the mace.  
  
"Saitou?"  
  
Wasn't he going to draw his katana?  
  
"Saitou?!"  
  
No. He wasn't, apparently, going to draw his katana.  
  
"SAITOU!!!!"  
  
I could, stop here and give you a complete run-down of every nano-second of the battle which followed, but that would be completely pointless. We both know that Kenshin jumped -in front- of the mace, and then used the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu to:  
  
A) Save Saitou.  
  
B) Have a brief ten second scene where he is gracefully flying through the air while re-iterating his vow to never kill.  
  
C) Save a random citizen.  
  
D) Destroy the mace.  
  
E) Briefly appear in photographic negative for no apparent reason.  
  
F) Drive off the bad guy without drawing blood or breaking a sweat.  
  
That being said, the man in the reptile suit hightailed it back up the street, screaming just as loudly as he had when he entered.  
  
Kenshin, panting only slightly, walked back over to where Saitou was standing.  
  
"Are you alright, Saitou?" Kenshin asked, peering at his supposed nemesis. Never. No -never- EVER, in his entire acquaintance with the man, had he -ever- seen Saitou hesitate to draw his katana. It felt wrong. Very wrong. More wrong than Sanosuke paying his Akabeko tab, more wrong than giving Shishio a puppy, more wrong than Shinmori Aoshi dressed as the Easter Bunny, more wrong than stabbing Tomoe directly through her left lung. Alright, maybe not quite -that- wrong.  
  
"That was brilliant, sempai!" Saitou said, clapping his white gloves together softly. "Stunning. Amazing, really."  
  
Kenshin was certain this was just about the worst punishment the Universe had -ever- heaped upon him. Yes. He had done -bad- things during the Bakumatsu, but certainly, nothing requiring -this-.  
  
"Sessha is not your sempai!" Really, how creepy could you get? First of all, Saitou was expressing -awe- at Kenshin's technique. Secondly, he'd called him -sempai-. Sempai! Kami-sama.   
  
"But, you must be. I mean, after what I just saw, you must be the best swordsman in all of Japan, I'm fairly certain. So, if we are both soldiers, and we fought together in a war, and you're the best, then you must certainly be my sempai, correct?"  
  
-You must be the best swordsman in all of Japan.-  
  
YOU....must be....the best swordsman in all of Japan.  
  
Kenshin punched himself in the face.  
  
Surely, he'd fallen asleep while doing laundry again.  
  
But, when he finally stopped going "Orororororo", he found that he was, indeed, still in the marketplace with Saitou.  
  
Still, bizarreness of the entire situation aside, one fact remained. Saitou Hajime, as he was, could not protect himself. And, with the strength of the people that Saitou had likely pissed off over the years, it seemed unlikely that his employers, the police, could protect him either.  
  
So, most unfortunately, that task would fall to Kenshin.  
  
And then there was the small matter of finding Saitou's wife and letting her know what had occurred. Possibly that could be done through the police department, but it would have to be handled delicately. It wouldn't be a good idea to leave a trail for enemies such as 'lizard suit guy' to be able to find Saitou while he was defenseless.   
  
This needed planning.   
  
It needed additional minds.  
  
Really, it needed mind -doctors-, but, unfortunately, Sigmund Freud was only twenty-two years old and currently living on the other side of the globe. So, indeed, Kenshin would have to settle for the residents of the dojo.  
  
"Saitou."  
  
"Eh?" The policeman, who had been examining a scrap of the lizard man's suit left behind after the battle, stood and bowed slightly to Kenshin, "My apologies, sempai, what were you saying?"  
  
"Let's go. Sessha would like you to come with him, to see a doctor, if you would."  
  
"An excellent suggestion, sempai. But, what about all this wreckage?"  
  
"Wreckage?"  
  
Saitou motioned around the marketplace. It was, indeed, a bit beaten up. It made Kenshin briefly wonder. He did, in truth, have a habit of leaving things around for the cops to clean up later. Usually, the property damage was minimal, but how many times had he Ryu Tsui Sen'ed a dozen or more men and then just left them around for the police to care for at a later time? It probably gave them headaches, just by the mere paperwork. No wonder Saitou was in a bad mood so often.  
  
"Ano...um...well...uh...Sessha thinks that will be alright for now, that it will."  
  
"Oh. Very well." Saitou flashed another smile, which was becoming, frankly, less creepy by the moment.  
  
The two headed out of the marketplace, walking swiftly enough to be gone by the time most of the citizenry re-appeared.  
  
"Say, sempai," Saitou said, grinning down at the rurouni.  
  
"Aa?"  
  
"Since we have time now, would you explain this 'Fujita' thing to me?"  
  
"Orororororooooo."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
In Our Next Chapter: Our newly lobotomized Saitou re-meets the dojo residents. Hiko admits he has a problem, which is always the first step. And what of Tokio? What is all this about 'that feeling'? I mean, certainly, Angrybee must be going -somewhere- with that, right? She wouldn't just put it in for no reason. On the other hand, she does speak in third person, so she might not even have what clue what planet this is.  
  
Author Note: Trying to picture our Saitou? Imagine Saitou with his Fujita Goro smile, but with messed up hair. Got it? Good.  
  
Thank you to all the kind reviewers who have expressed that they would like to see more of this story, including: Catnip, Sakura Butterfly, Azhdeen, MissBehavin, vegetachanlover, Veleda, PraiseDivineMercy, randomperson, Mainstream Sovereign, Cat, Avatar for the DCG, EEevee, Lychee2, Trupana, Master of Time and Space, BarbaraSheridan, dreammaster2411, A-chan, Tessira Aleyn, seri-chan, Ebony-Glass, Tenshi-san, RoseoftheDesert, IceRain, Rainchaser, conspirator, Gemini1, kakashi-fan, and haku baikou.  
  
P.S. Seriously. Don't tell anyone that I'm not working on finishing 'Hajime and Tokio'. I'm personally in denial of my writer's block, deep denial, a denial that will only be cured by watching 8 straight hours of Excel Saga. No seriously, that is what I am doing. Excel Saga cures all. HAIL ILPALATZO! 


	3. Death of A Rurouni

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 3 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"You ever eaten smoked cat on a cold day, sempai?"  
  
Kenshin rubbed his temples. He believed, yes, he definitely -knew- it was better when the psychotic cop's innermost thoughts were hidden behind a callous sneer. "No, Saitou, have you?"  
  
"Can't say I recall." Saitou shrugged and continued his bizarre interrogation. "You ever turned a turtle over on its back, just to watch the damn thing wiggle?"  
  
"Uhhh..."  
  
"Or dunked your head into a bucket of brine and ran around claming to be Queen of the Pickles?"  
  
"Ano, I..."  
  
"Sempai, have you ever stabbed a man, just to watch him bleed?"  
  
Kenshin fell into the dirt, dead. Seriously. His heart stopped beating, and angels started to cluster around him, all craning to get a good look at the only assassin to ever have a chance at getting into heaven.   
  
"That's no hitokiri," the Archangel Gabriel whined, "That's just a bloody rurouni."  
  
"How can you tell, Gabe?"  
  
"He smells of laundry soap." The angel stomped his foot in despair. "Throw him back, boys. I don't have any rurounis on the list today. Say, lets pop over to Kyoto and watch Shinomori's struggle for inner peace. That's always a riotous good time, eh?"  
  
"I'll bet my best harp that I can make him go insane and try to kill Okina again," one of the Seraphim declared.  
  
"Oooh, I want to bet that Aoshi is -gay-," the Archangel Michael said excitedly, jumping up and down, his oversized glittery wings knocking smaller angels into the air left and right.   
  
"He's not gay, you're gay," the Archangel Uriel stated grumpily, crossing his arms at his chest. "Besides, he likes the little ninja girl."  
  
"Nuh-uh, he likes that Seta kid," The Fabulous Archangel Michael opined, examining his nails, "Say, do you think he got it on with Hannya?"  
  
"Ew!"  
  
"Or Beshimi?"  
  
"EW!"  
  
"He -likes- the little ninja girl," Uriel stated again. "It has to be true, because I read it on the internet."  
  
"You're an idiot, Uriel. The internet is in the FUTURE!"  
  
"Time has no meaning to me, baka! Besides, I'm not the one who stands around watching Kamatari in the bath, Michael," Uriel replied, leaning his head to one side and drooling in an impression of the most -sparkly- of all the archangels.   
  
"Maa, maa," Gabriel replied, grabbing his two co-workers by their wings, "No more fighting, or I'll shove you both into one body and reincarnate you as the child of a tanuki who can't cook."  
  
Back on the road, oblivious to the heavenly throwdown taking place all around, Saitou bent over the dead rurouni. "Sempai? Sempai?"  
  
Kenshin swam back to consciousness across the sea of 'This Just Ain't Right', hiked back to Tokyo through the mountains of 'Why Me?', and finally found his body on "Of All The Things That Could Have Happened Today" Street.   
  
"Oroooooo," Kenshin groaned, sitting up. Saitou extended a hand to pull the rurouni to a standing position and looked on, ever so concerned, while Kenshin dusted himself off.  
  
"You keep saying that, sempai. Oro. -Oro-. Is that your war cry, or something? I don't think you'll frighten too many people with that."  
  
"Sessha does not wish to frighten others. Sessha merely wishes to get you to the doctor." Yes. As quickly as possible. Quicker than the battoujutsu, quicker than Misao on an unconscious Aoshi, quicker than Seta Soujirou on a three-day methamphetamine bender. In essence, very, very, very unslowly.  
  
This appeared to shut Saitou up for a while. Kenshin imagined he had a lot to think about. What did the Wolf of Mibu generally think about, anyway? Kenshin had never really thought about it. Did the man have any hobbies besides smoking and looking cross? Surely he must have -some- endearing qualities.   
  
But, what was -really- bothering Kenshin was how, exactly, to tell Saitou about -Saitou-. How do you tell a man that he is an irascible pill, prone to killing anyone who doesn't follow his personal ideology? Kenshin was composing thoughts along these lines:  
  
"Saitou, sessha regrets to tell you that you aren't a very nice person. You live by the antiquated code of a group of defeated warriors, that you do. Last year you stabbed one of my best friends through the shoulder, and never apologized. Then, you tried to kill me, and never apologized, And then, you pretended to be dead, and never apologized. Basically, you're just waiting for the moment Sessha screws up so you can try to kill me again, that you are. No one sessha knows is very fond of you. I'm very sorry, Saitou, but maybe this memory loss thing is the best thing that ever happened to you."  
  
Kenshin, a man who generally felt more guilty than...well...uh...er... No, I can't really say that anyone generally feels more guilty than Kenshin. If he had a game show, it would be called The Wheel of Guilt. If he were on a soap opera, it would be called The Bold and The Guilty. If, say, someone dressed him in a bikini, set him on the sun-drenched shores of an American beach, and made him run with a life preserver in his hand...well, he'd just be on Baywatch, guilt or no guilt.  
  
Thankfully, Himura Kenshin was NOT the star of some silly T.V. show.  
  
Nor did he own a bikini.  
  
But, if he did, it would be likely that he'd feel guilty about it.  
  
Aside from the guilt, the whole situation was overwhelmingly perplexing. How was he going to explain this to Megumi-dono, not to mention everyone at the dojo? It was getting dark now, and Saitou would definitely have to stay the night with them.   
  
Saitou scratched his head. Then he scratched his shoulder. Then his cheeks. In fact, he looked...well...somewhat twitchy altogether.  
  
"Ano, Saitou, are you...alright?"  
  
Saitou stopped itching the end of his nose just long enough to say, "Sempai, I'm...itchy."  
  
Oh no. Maybe the knock to Saitou's usually impervious and ever-so-creepy noggin had done more than just make him lose his memory. Maybe, just maybe, something else had happened, as well.  
  
Kenshin felt an overwhelming amount of guilt due to the fact that, just for an instant, he hoped it was something fatal. So much guilt that...  
  
Well, lets not get into that again.  
  
Thankfully, just at that moment, the pair arrived at Dr. Gensai's clinic. Kenshin grabbed Saitou's wrist and dragged him inside using super-Kenshin-speed. (And by this I mean that Kenshin ran quite fast. He wasn't giving Saitou methamphetamines. That, my friends, is a different story altogether.)  
  
(Somewhere, across Japan, a rather sleazy figure scuttled up to Seta Soujiro. "Hey kid," he said, holding out a bottle of pills, "I got something to increase your....pep."  
  
"Really?" Soujiro replied. Well, all this rurouni-ing had made him quite worn out. A little "pep" might be just what he needed.)  
  
"Megumi-dono!" Kenshin came to a stop inside the mostly deserted clinic, dropping Saitou on the floor with a -thud-. "Megumi-dono! Come quick!"  
  
Megumi appeared from one of the back rooms, holding a mortar and pestle. "Ken-san? And...uh..." Megumi looked from Kenshin to Saitou and back again. "If you two got into a fight and you expect me to patch you up for free..."  
  
"Megumi-dono..." Kenshin lifted up Saitou, who was scratching ferociously at his own neck, by the collar. "Saitou had a tofu hut fall on his head, that he did. And now he can't remember anything. And...he won't stop scratching himself."  
  
The fox-doctor bent down to take a good look at Saitou, and Saitou leered openly at the fox-doctor's chest. Upon seeing this, Megumi slapped the Wolf of Mibu as hard as possible.  
  
"Oh no!" Megumi's eyes went wide as she realized what she had done. "Oh...you're going to put me in jail now, aren't you? Please tell me that assaulting a police officer isn't an automatic death sentence. I'm too young and -far- too pretty to die!"  
  
Instead of dragging Megumi to prison, Saitou merely shrugged and scratched at the back of his head. "Ano...sorry," Saitou said sheepishly, looking down at the floor, "I didn't mean to..."  
  
"He really -has- lost his memory, hasn't he, Ken-san?"  
  
Kenshin nodded.  
  
"Well, let me take a look."  
  
(Across Japan, in Kyoto, Hiko Seijuro was pounding on the Aoiya door. He was pounding, and pounding, and pounding. Then he remembered that he was the master of the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu, and he proceeded to kick the door down.  
  
"Shinomori! SHINOMORI, GET OUT HERE NOW! I have a bone to pick with you about those damn onmitsu women of yours!"  
  
On another plane of existence, the Archangel Michael swooned. "Oh, look at him, Uriel. Hiko is so -dreeeamy-. I'm going to get Cupid-sama to shoot an arrow and have Shinomori and Hiko fall in looooovvvveee."  
  
Uriel made no reply, as he was busy going through the Nine Thousand Six Hundred and Twenty Two Volumes of Heavenly Law looking for any mention of gay angels being prohibited.  
  
But back on Earth, Shinomori Aoshi appeared from the shadows, a particularly cold look on his face. And, for once, that look had less to do with his state of constant mental anguish, and more to do with the fact that he'd just taken a cold bath because he'd accidentally seen Misao getting dressed.   
  
"Speak," Aoshi intoned.  
  
"Those women won't stop following me and trying to take my sake. You're their Okashira. I demand that you do something about it." Hiko crossed his arms underneath his giant mantle and sneered obnoxiously.  
  
Aoshi's left eyebrow flinched. "So...ka?"   
  
Suddenly, Hiko Seijuro noticed that Shinomori Aoshi was a rather fine looking man. Very fine looking. He had very lovely skin. And those eyes...those eyes of Shinomori's were so exquisite. Hiko had never seen such eyes on a man before. He had to have a closer look. Yes, much, much closer.  
  
"Yatta!" Michael exclaimed, holding Cupid by one of his stubby legs and bouncing happily. "I did it! I did it! The old hermit will never know what hit him!"  
  
"Shinomori." Hiko's massive frame inched closer and closer to Aoshi. "Shi...no...mori..."  
  
Aoshi's right eyebrow flinched.   
  
"I've never heard a word so...fascinating. Shino...mori. It rolls off your tongue, doesn't it?" Hiko leaned forward on one arm, pinning Aoshi against a bookcase. "Yes. A beautiful word. Just like the man it describes." Hiko raised his free hand and traced one single finger over Aoshi's cheek. "I want you Shinomori...Kami-sama help me, but I do."  
  
Aoshi's expression didn't change. But he did say, "You should look out."  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"She's fairly adept at hitting a non-moving target."  
  
"Nani?"  
  
Thankfully, Hiko had enough sense to jump out of the way before being hit with a handful of tobi kunai.)  
  
"Well," Megumi said, standing and handing Saitou back his shirt, "I can fix the itching, but the memory loss presents much more of a problem."  
  
"Really?" Saitou said, trying not to itch at his naked torso, "You can fix the itching part?"  
  
Megumi nodded as Saitou buttoned his shirt. She slinked up to him, putting her hand on his collar in her ever-so-foxlike manner. "It's a craving, one you can't deny." Megumi's deft fingers slid down over Saitou's chest, causing the Feared and Deadly Wolf of Mibu to blush.  
  
That's right. Saitou Hajime blushed.  
  
(Across the World, the nose fell off of the Sphinx, the Pope cursed, the Amazon River suddenly turned into Fruit Punch, and a giant robot in the shape of a penguin appeared in the Sahara Desert and started shooting roses from its metallic nipples. Subsequently, Yukishiro Tomoe rose from her grave and moved to Las Vegas to become a stripper.)  
  
"Ano...sensei...about earlier, I didn't mean to lead you on, but..."  
  
"Oh-ho-ho-ho-ho," Megumi laughed, her little fox ears appearing. She reached into Saitou's shirt pocket and retrieved his cigarettes. "You're just in need of a cigarette. Itching is one of the signs of withdrawal. Now, be a good boy and go outside and smoke this while I speak to Ken-san."  
  
"Thank you so much, sensei!" Saitou raced out the door with a look on his face which rather reminded Kenshin of what Yahiko looked like when someone said the word "Akabeko".   
  
"What about his memory, Megumi-dono?" Kenshin asked, twiddling his thumbs and wishing quite desperately that he had not seen Saitou blush.  
  
Megumi sighed. "Well, his memory can't be fixed with medicine. The bump didn't look too bad, so I am guessing that his memory will return in time. Your best bet is to introduce him to people, places, and things which are familiar. Getting him home would be a good start."  
  
Kenshin nodded. Home. But, where on earth did Saitou live? "Sessha will try to find out where he lives tomorrow."  
  
"And Ken-san..."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Be very careful. He may not remember who he is, but he is still very dangerous. People can sometimes do things on instinct, even without their full memories. If I were you, I'd consider taking his sword away."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Kami-sama. She had "that feeling". When his mother got "that feeling", things just tended to go awry.   
  
You see, for all of her neuroses and psychoses, Saitou Tokio had one special talent. It was a talent which possibly made her the only person on Earth who would have chosen to marry Saitou Hajime. She was the only one who could see through his cruelty, his murderous sneer, his bloodthirsty demeanor, and find something inside to cherish and adore.  
  
Because Saitou Tokio was empathic.  
  
She could sense the feelings of others like no person Tsutomu had ever -even- heard of. She knew when you were sad, knew when you were guilty, knew when you'd kissed Fujiko-chan on the cheek. Tsutomu blushed at remembering that last one. Sometimes having an empathic mother was a -real- bother.  
  
There were many problems with this particular power, though. First of all, Saitou Tokio couldn't relate to the emotions of animals, which made her absolutely terrified of anything which wasn't human. And secondly...well...  
  
She was insane. And an insane woman who knows exactly what everyone else is feeling, is a real danger to herself, and sometimes, to others.  
  
Imagine this woman walking into the market and realizing that the innkeeper's wife is in love with the shoemaker, but not possessing enough sense to keep that secret to herself.  
  
If you are able to imagine that, and you can begin to deduce the -terror- unleashed when Saitou Tokio left her home.  
  
Tsutomu pressed his fingers to his temple and read The Instructions. His father's blessed organizational skills would have to save them all. Tsutomu only hoped he had the strength to carry them out.  
  
Rule #1: Do not let your mother out of the house.  
  
Rule #2: DO NOT LET YOUR MOTHER OUT OF THE HOUSE, even if she begs, cries, or pouts.  
  
Rule #3: If you -must-, for some reason, let your mother out of the house, DO NOT LET HER OUT OF YOUR SIGHT.   
  
Rule #4: MAKE SURE SHE IS WEARING CLOTHES THIS TIME.  
  
Rule #5: Your mother is not to have any candy.  
  
Rule #6: OR ANY ALCOHOL.  
  
Rule #7: Try to avoid populated areas.   
  
Rule #8: On second thought, just don't EVER let your mother out of the house!  
  
Tsutomu sighed. The Instructions were less helpful than he had thought. He put them back into the filing cabinet and walked back into the room where his mother was attempting to clean the same tea set she'd already cleaned nine times that day.   
  
"You're worried about something, ne, Tsu-chan?" Tokio set one of the cups down and picked up another. "I'm worried, too. Your father always sends word if he's going to be this late. I have -that- feeling, you know. Something horrible...something terrible..."  
  
"Mother," Tsutomu said quietly, kneeling down in front of Tokio, "You mustn't get worked up. Remember that sometimes, just sometimes, the world seems a little different to you. And, when you act on impulse...well..."  
  
Tokio's lips fell into a little frown as confusion flooded her eyes. "What do you mean, Tsu-chan?"  
  
"Well, mother, remember the time you found that dead cat in our yard, and you decided to smoke it, and feed it to us for dinner, just because you thought it was a sign from Kami-sama?"  
  
Tokio tilted her head, "But, it -was- a sign."  
  
"And remember the time you found a turtle in your garden and you were so scared that you poked it with a stick and flipped it over, and then spent the whole day hiding in the bushes as it wiggled, because you were terrified it would exact revenge?"  
  
Tokio bit her lip. "The turtle would have attacked me, Tsutomu. It was very angry. I'm sure of it!"  
  
"Remember the time that you dunked your head in a vat of brine because you thought your cucumbers had declared you Queen of the Pickles?"  
  
"But Tsu-chan," Tokio whispered with humble sincerity, "Cucumbers are quite wise..."  
  
"And mother, don't you recall the time you stabbed father in his sleep with your paring knife, just to watch him bleed?"  
  
"Oh, Tsu-chan, that's not fair at -all-. I was trying to get the evil spirits to come out. They were making him -snore-!"  
  
Tsutomu put one hand on his mother's shoulder. "We don't blame you, Mother. We all love you just the way you are. But, you have to trust me, okay? Let's stay here and wait, for now. If Father hasn't returned or sent word by morning, I promise, we'll go look for him. Alright?"  
  
Tokio nodded, her lips breaking into a wide smile. "Alright, Tsu-chan. I trust you! You're my cleverest son. So clever, just like your father..."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Saitou tripped and fell, face first, into the dirt road. "Ooo, Sempai," he said, quickly standing back up, "These cigarettes sure can make you dizzy."  
  
Kenshin didn't respond. He was still thinking about what Megumi-dono had said. Take Saitou's sword away? On one hand, Megumi-dono was right. They couldn't have Saitou accidentally hurt someone with his katana while he was like this. He might not even do it on purpose, just reflexively. On the other hand, without his katana, Saitou was even -more- helpless against random attacks like the one in the market.   
  
Not that his katana did him much good -then-.  
  
But, if he wasn't wearing his katana, enemies would be more likely to attack, rather than err on the side of caution.  
  
A complete dilemma.   
  
"Where are we going, sempai?"  
  
"We're going to the dojo, that we are."  
  
"A dojo? How interesting! Have I ever been there before?"  
  
Kenshin tried not make a horrible face as he recalled the day that Saitou had first come to visit the dojo. "Yes, Saitou. You have."  
  
(Somewhere, on another plane of existence, the Archangel Uriel leaned over and whispered something in the Archangel Gabriel's ear.  
  
And then Gabriel said, "HE DID WHAT?")  
  
Kenshin slid the door of the dojo open as quietly as possible.   
  
Quietly, but not quiet enough to mask the sound from a rabid tanuki, a hungry Yahiko, and a rooster-headed streetfighter looking to borrow money.  
  
"Kenshin! Kenshin!" Kaoru called, bounding out of the kitchen, followed by Yahiko and Sano. She waved happily at the rurouni standing in the doorway, "I'm so glad you're home, we were beginning to get wor..."  
  
Just then, one of the figures most dreaded by the dojo residents stepped into view behind Kenshin. Saitou moved forward and stood beside the rurouni.   
  
Then he grinned.  
  
And Kaoru screamed.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
In Our Next Chapter: What will the dojo residents think? Will Kenshin take away Saitou's sword, or tell him more about himself? Will Soujiro become a drug addict? Will Tsutomu let Tokio out of the house? And what about the conundrum in Kyoto? What happens when the master of the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu becomes infatuated with the Okashira of the Oniwabanshuu?  
  
Stay tuned for the next exciting installment of 'A Sakabatou for Baka Saitou' to find out!  
  
Author's Note: Sorry this chapter had less -funnies- in it than the last one, but the "plot" has to unfold, you know?   
  
Thank you so much to all the reviewers! I'm so glad you are enjoying this bizarre little fic. I hope it continues to live up to your standards! So, thanks again to: kagome-chan1234567890 (ACK! NO KILLING! NO KILLING ANGRYBEE!), Wistful-Eyes, haku baikou (I'd read a book on anime physics by Hawking!), chibi-tenken, kenshingentatsu, Karta (Sorry it took so long to update!), Sesshie-sama, ChibiMethos, Kuchiro, Espi, Malou, Cherry Delight (Ah, but now H&T is finished!), Tenniyo (This Tokio would be -so- afaid of Snowflake, unfortunately.), dreammaster2411 (Cheese? Fish?), Mainstream Soveriegn, vegetachanlover, April-san, I'mapersonwhoreadthestory, caitlin (This story takes place approximately one year after the Jinchuu arc, but Kenshin and Kaoru aren't -together- yet.), MissBehavin, Cala Lily, PraiseDivineMercy (The dojo residents should be...interesting, eh?), MoMo-ChAn1, EEevee, anj, IceRain, Trupana (OK! I will change that in the edits, and have switched to English, since I'm no Japanese expert, and shouldn't try to be, eh? My goodness, your review is about as long as the chapter! I LOVE the Song of Soujiro!!!!), The Writer Guy, Sakura Butterfly (Sakura Butterfly seems to have the same Third-Person-Reference Disease that Angrybee has!), BarbaraSheridan, Tessira Aleyn, fujifunmum, Gemini1, and Rainchaser!!!!  
  
THANKS TO YOU ALL!!!!!! 


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